


Два царя

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King!Sam, Dark, Gore, Hell, King of Hell!Dean, M/M, Mark of Cain, Mark of Cain!Dean, only wincest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things went downhill after Dean picked up the blade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Два царя

They had been told that there were things in the dark that they didn’t want to know about when they were kids. They had been told later that these things were monsters, shapeshifters and werewolves and vampires who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them just because they were children. They were given guns to protect themselves.

They pointed those guns in the wrong direction. It should have been aimed a little higher up and a little closer to their heads.

Because what they became was worse than those monsters they had been scared of when they were kids, when they were teenagers, when they were even full-fledged hunters. They became demon’s nightmares and beings so powerful that in the cage below hell Lucifer heard of his former vessel’s achievements and shivered in the eternal flames of torture.

Dean liked to watch them squirm under his knife. He liked the way they screamed, and he heard so many that eventually he started making a list of the screams that sounded the best. The ones that he liked the most--the ones whose screams were music to his ears--those ones he kept on his rack. The ones he didn’t were obliterated. Gone--destroyed by a jawbone with a thousand innocents’ blood on it.

Sam preferred more subtlety. He always was the less violent of the two--at least outside of the bedroom. He didn’t care about or take particular pleasure in screams or splitting someone’s soul in two a thousand times over. He like to play games. Games that ended in one party winning and another losing a limb. Or a heart. Or a stomach. Or their life. Or their soul. Or their sanity. The list went on and on. Flipping a coin like a yellow-eyed Janus upon the throne of bones, Sam Winchester ruled Hell.

You could tell when one of them was approaching because there was a particular scent of blood and gore with the sound of bones crushing beneath their feet. They were giants in human bodies, Titans condensed into six feet of impermeable flesh and blood bearing halos of hellfire and capes made of the skin of the innocents. They bowed to no one, no God or angel or even the Devil himself. 

There are rumors that they took a trip to the Cage and spat in his face once.

There are whispers of when they were human. Stories about how they became the very thing they were fighting. About how they chose each other and in doing so gave up the world and everything that they had once held sacred.

“Saving people,  
hunting things,  
the family business.”

Nowadays the only saving they do is releasing souls from torture into Death’s cold embrace. They hunt the innocent and the good and carry them from their protection under angels into the pits of hell and onto Dean’s racks where he makes them into masterpieces.

The family business has turned from a well-intentioned mantra into an exclusive club of two Kings of Hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Title means "Two Kings".


End file.
